


Common Language

by Typo66



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 1940's, Character Study, Gen, Nostalgia, Russia, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:17:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Typo66/pseuds/Typo66
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's adjusting to 21st century. Natasha is actually human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Common Language

**Author's Note:**

> Small, possibly boring piece. I just think Steve would adjust to cellphones and stuff much more easily than other, subtler things.
> 
> It contains my feelings of living as a foreigner. And some nostalgia about my own childhood memories of Russia. I'm not Russian though. So every reference in this fic is based on my experience only. It's how I saw stuff. Doesn't necessarily mean they are true.

First wired thing she noticed was the smoke curling around Steve’s head and dissipating in the summer night breeze. Who would have thought Captain America smoked? It was like a black smudge on the otherwise completely, almost inhumanly, wholesome image the guy projected. He was lightly leaning on the railings, looking over the glitter of Manhattan in night time. Natasha approached him slowly, her footsteps light but audible. She wanted to see if Steve would tense when he noticed her presence, she wanted to see how badly Rogers needed to be left alone.

“You know, when I was 9, they were building the Empire States Building. It was so exciting, we couldn’t imagine how high it could go. Highest ever, the papers called it.”

The captain didn’t turn to look at Natasha but at least now she knew he didn’t mind company. She came to rest her elbows on the railing next to him.

“We had the MGU in Moscow. Of course it’s much older but still something to see. Now they built some TV station that has a higher antenna. Kind of annoying for a historical landmark to be topped by an antenna if you think about it.” She said, her voice low and light.

A corner of Steve’s mouth lifted.

“Yeah. I know the feeling.” He said then took a long drag from his cigarette. Natasha side eyed him hold the smoke in his lungs for longer than necessary, Steve rolled the cigarette between his fingers, contemplating it before exhaling.

“Didn’t know you smoked.” She remarked after a long pause.

Steve shrugged. “Doctors used to recommend brands. Of course I never could try, not with my asthma. But later, during the war, everybody smoked. No one told us it was harmful.” Then he gently pressed the smoking butt into his glass to put it out. “Imagine my surprise.”

He was still not looking at Natasha, busying himself with the cigarette butt.

“Frankly, I can’t.” She said. Not just about cigarettes causing cancer, but on so many little things. First thing Steve Rogers got out of the ice, they gave him an orientation debriefing. Explained the major things, crash course in political history, technology, the internet and cellphones, trip to the moon, then about national and international security systems... A lot to take in but Captain Rogers was a smart man. It all stuck almost on the first reading. That was not the hard part.

Fighting and surviving was second nature to the Captain. Basics didn’t change. But when the guy was 23 years old Steve Rogers from Brooklyn instead of Captain America... That required an etirely different type of orientation that none of them could provide. Natasha imagined it would be like losing your home. It would be like moving to another country, having to speak a different language all the time with no one left on the planet earth that spoke your mother tongue.

Steve was lonely and not just because Steve had lost his friends. He was alone in an entirely different level.

“It must be hard.” She said shrugging finally, breaking the silence while Rogers pulled out another cigarette. Camel Turkish Blend. She guessed that he’d selected it randomly.

“I’m tough.” Was the only answer she got.

“That you are.” And honestly, Natasha admired him for how he was taking the whole century shift.

“It’s just that..” Ah.. There was a “but” and Natasha kind of felt honored that Steve would share his “but” with her. She’d never heard Steve complaining about having trouble adjusting. He never talked about “back in the day”. She thought it was because he was never sure how he’d be perceived. It went back to the not-speaking-the-same-language-with-anyone thing.

“It’s just that there are so many people.” Steve looked down as he exhaled again, blowing a straight line of smoke over the view. “Manhattan is such a big crowd. Everything looks so plastic, too sleek. Even the crowd. Feels almost fake.”

“Well.. You’re not the only one who feels that way.” She commented. It was true. Only difference was, people now were just too used to the sleek to pinpoint the cause of the feeling of artifice.

“Tony sure loves both the crowds and the sleek.”

Natasha snorted at that. 

“That man is 90% digitally operated, intentionally designed mechanics. I’m not even sure he qualifies as human.”

At that Steve looked at her with a genuine smile.

“I bet he’d say the same about you.”

Natasha shrugged, unconcerned. He wouldn’t really be that wrong either. 

“So.. I’m not gonna ask you what a beautiful dame like you is doing with the SHIELD, fighting the fight. I learn from my mistakes. But I do wonder one thing...” Suddenly he looked shy, now that the conversation had moved away from what he would pick and choose to share, to what Natasha might not liked asked about herself.

“You lead with ‘beautiful’ so go ahead and ask. Worst I can do is punch you.” She said deadpan.

“Do you feel like a foreigner here? Don’t you miss Russia?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. It was a complicated question. And one that she had figured out the answer to long time ago.

“I miss something that never really existed for me. I miss the solyanka they used to serve at the orphanage. It used to be lukewarm and oily. But it was still filling. And I used to look forward to it because it reminded me of my mother. The truth is, I don’t even have a single memory of my mom making solyanka. I was too young to remember anything about her when she died. But I held on to what I believed made me feel closer to a better time.” She plucked the half cigarette from the captains hand to take a drag herself. It’d been too long since she’d last smoked. At least for pleasure. 

“Now,the idea of Russia carries a fake sense of nostalgia for me. I do miss the way the Krasnaya Ploshad would fall silent under heavy snow. The peace of Novodevichy in spring.” She handed the cigarette back to him. “I miss the way no shopkeeper would ever smile at you when you bought from them. Here, everybody smiles at you, it’s creepy.” She gave a fake shiver.

Steve huffed out a laugh.

“You’re bothered by smiling people?”

“Not really.” Natasha went on. “It was just the way you behaved there. Such a small thing, isn’t it? But it was what I was used to, growing up in Russia. No matter how adaptable you are, no matter how good you are at blending in, how well you learn the new way of life... You never stop missing your base-line. Even if, objectively, what you have right now is better. I can walk down the street to the small Russian Restaurant and have a bowl of hot solyanka, rich with fresh meat and it’ll never replace the disgusting oily bowls I had when I was a kid.”

The captain nodded and they just watched the night lights glitter in silence. Finally, Steve put out his cigarette. When he spoke, it was almost in a whisper.

“I’ll never get used to this, will I.”

“You’ll never stop missing home.” Natasha answered, she believed it was best to suck it up in any situation. It was the only way you could move on.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy here. I know nothing will replace the people you’ve lost. Friends that understood where you were coming from, people who you spoke the same language with. But you’re not alone.”

At that, Steve turned towards her completely, for the first time looking her in the eye since the beginning of their conversation.

“Actually, thats the one thing that feels the same. I’m adjusting still. But this... Avengers.. You, Clint, Thor, Bruce.. Even Tony. That doesn’t feel different at all.”

Natasha smiled at him. She had heard what he wasn’t saying. Their little band of weirdoes felt like home to a man out of time. She knew because she felt the same. On that balcony, they were two people who were as different from each other as was possible to be, and they still spoke the same language. That’s how she knew Steve would be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Krasnaya Ploshad is the Red Square.  
> Novodevichy in this fic is the big cemetary, that's what I was picturing.  
> Solyanka is a soup made with mostly meat and fat.  
> MGU is Moscow State Univ.
> 
> In addition; I've had this conversation about constantly having to speak a foreign language with friends who've lived abroad. I always get the same answers. No matter how well you speak the language or for how long, it just never satisfies in the same way that speaking your mother tongue does. I don't know if you bilingual or polylingual people out there agree or disagree.. Let me know.
> 
> Oh and I think Steve definitely would have smoked during the war. Natasha does it cuz she kinda does everything.


End file.
